One of us
by rotorhead
Summary: No longer a one shot. Jazz, Prowl and the balance of life and death.
1. Chapter 1

One of us.

Me no own, you no sue.

Jazz walked down the passageway dancing to his internal radio. Smile plastered on to his dermal plates as he bounced in time with the songs beat. Gyrating towards the lounge where he spun in the doorway before entering.

"How can you be so happy?"

"It's a good song, I jus' gota move with it."

Tracks snorted and the various other mechs in the room glowered at him. Fresh weld seams scaring most and burned armor the current fashion. Jazz kept up with the trend with his chest plates singed black and a myriad of welds on his leg and back courtesy of Ravage.

"Ok then. How come you're not worried about Hound and Sunstreaker?"

"Who say's I'm not?"

The blue mech's optic's narrowed as Jazz two stepped over to the energon dispenser and helped himself to a cube.

"You have a strange way of showing concern for your wounded friends."

The saboteur spun around and broke in to a moonwalk. Cube held securely in his hand as he spun again and rose up on his toes, hands in the air, Michal Jackson style.

Pausing a moment in the pose before settling on his feet and setting his hand on Tracks shoulder. The Porsche removed it a moment later as he downed his entire cube of energon in a single gulp. Throwing the empty container into the trash receptacle on the other side of the room without hitting the bin's sides for a perfect swoosh.

"They'll be a'right Tracks. Ratch-man will pull one of his miracles and you can go back to disliking Sunstreaker."

Air choked out of the corvettes vents and the blue mech turned away.

"Even though he is an egotistical, vain fragger, it wouldn't be the same with out him or…"

Tracks let the sentence die off and twisted around to look at someone across the room. Jazz followed the line of sight and spotted Sideswipe on the couch in the corner.

Bumblebee sat on one side trying to get the red mech to drink some energon and Bluestreak perched on 'Sides other side just chattering away.

"Yeah, 'Sides wouldn't be the same without his bro to save his aft after he pulled somethen' stupid. Like painting you pink, again."

Tracks smiled despite himself.

"I really looked ridiculous with the matching feather boa glued around my neck."

Jazz looked down at the blue car whose face was torn between the smile from the memory and the tears that threatened from reality. Silently Jazz returned his hand to Tracks shoulder and looked back at the surviving twin.

The Lamborghini's armor was crumbled and scorched, fresh welds crisscrossed most of his chest with his left arm cabled in to place so he couldn't move it and a lost look in his optics as he stared at the cube Bee kept putting in his hands. Jazz had seen the preliminary report, the red one had barely been scratched in comparison to the yellow Lambo.

Trailbreaker made a wail like sound from Jazz's right and he spotted the tracker drowning his worry for his friend with high grade. Mirage sat next to the black mech, not quite as inebriated and toasted Jazz when he saw his commander looking his way. Throwing the cube in his hand back like it was nothing more then coolant and slamming the container down on the table with more force then necessary. Jazz removed his hand from Tracks shoulder and nodded in return.

"Remember when Hound hit a skunk and was kicked out of the Ark until the smell went away?"

Trailbreaker lifted his head from the table and slurred out.

"He s-sat in a stream for almost an entire day trying t-to get rid of the stench, it even scared away the seekers that f-found him."

Tracks got up and sat next to Trailbreaker and poured himself a cube of high grade. Starting up his own tale of Hounds and Sunstreakers misadventures, smiling at the funny parts and forgetting why they were remembering.

Jazz smiled and cranked his internal radio. Foot tapping to the beat and hips starting to sway in time, when he felt it.

The request for admission.

Silently he declined, and rocked back and forth in time with the song, working into a grove and dancing his way out of the lounge.

Sideswipe was in vary capable hands and so was Trailbreaker.

Feet switch stepping as he made his way down the hall to the officer's lounge. The blue and red hulk of Optimus stewing over his cube like the great leader always did when someone was badly injured and Prowl was no where to be seen. Working furiously to figure out what had gone wrong, no doubt.

The black and white Porsche made a mental note to visit the Datsun and ensure the tactician had some energon before he dropped from exhaustion.

Feet stomping and arms over his head as he leaned with it and rocked with it, Jazz felt the request again, much more persistent then before.

And again he declined.

Swinging in to the lounge and sliding up behind his commanding officer almost in the splits, Jazz pulled himself straight and pushed the energon cube in to Optimus' open hand and closed the blue fist around it. Plopping onto the table next to the cube and crossing his arms.

"It's not your fault boss-man. They'll make it and there was nothing that you could of done to change what happened. It was what any of us would of done and it's what any of us will do again if we want to win this war. So drink something before I have to sic Ratchet on you."

He could feel Prime's weary optics focused on him and the burned black and white smiled as wide as his face plates would allow.

With a clink and groan of gears, Optimus retracted his battle mask and raised the cube to his face. Pausing before it touched his lips to nod his thanks to his Special ops officer.

Jazz jumped off the table and bowed gallantly earning a chuckle from Prime before snapping his back straight and be-bopping it to the door.

Pausing before stepping out.

"Grab some recharge Boss-man. Before Prowl dumps all those battle reports on yer lap."

"You could always help with them."

He gasped in mock horror before smiling again.

"I could."

With that he ducked out, jigging his way to his quarters, keying open the door and enacted every security measure he had and some he didn't.

The requests for admission were getting louder now, coming in over the volume of his radio so he couldn't just ignore them.

Circulating air through his vents with a tiredness no one ever saw, Jazz reached up and removed his visor.

Un-buffered white light spilled forth in the otherwise dim room. Filling up the small space until it consumed everything. Bleaching out the desk and recharge berth, his shelves with his music and sound equipment until it all tapered off into nothingness. Even the pictures on the walls of him posing with his friends and the framed one where he was giving Optimus bunny ears disappeared, engulfed in to the light that spanned around him for all eternity.

He could feel worry and pain in his spark. How Sideswipe positively ached from the fear of losing his brother. How Trailbreaker couldn't come to terms with what he felt for Hound and kept drinking until all the things he never said, no longer mattered. The strut chilling weariness of Optimus Prime and at the same time, the determination to do right by the mechs that trusted him with their lives. Further away he could feel Soundwave's worry as he tended an appreciative Ravage and Ranjet's lust over Skywarp. Starscream's ambition and Megatrons unrelenting desire to rule.

All the while the pain of the wounded scratched in to his spark like a welder on high.

The mental screams of agony from the freshly injured and those that loved them brought him to his knees. Drove his hands to his audios in a futile attempt to block it out.

But he couldn't keep it out anymore, it was too loud, to incessant and a spark drifted into his white expanse. Dim and fading with every pulse it was soon joined by another just as dim and fading spark.

Gliding around him, begging to be admitted until he could not stand the cries any longer and opened his arms and looked at each one.

Spectro and Sunstreaker.

The pain radiated off them as their physical bodies died in their respective med bays. Ratchet and Scrapper working furiously to mend the broken mechs, unbeknownst that the fate of their patient lay not with them.

Spectro, one third of reflector stood with a hole in his chest and missing an arm and half a leg.

Sunstreaker; mashed and mauled, spark laid out to the elements and one leg simply no longer there.

They wanted it to stop.

They wanted the pain to end and for it be over.

Jazz felt the fear and worry of the mechs brothers, Sideswipe, Veiwfinder and Spyglass and he rejected the request again.

Frowns appeared on the faces of the mechs standing in front of him, they wanted their end and he was declining them their promised haven.

"Return to your brothers, they are waiting for you."

The words spilled forth echoing in the vastness of the white light and Sunstreaker looked scared for a moment then looked at him, really looked at him.

And vanished.

Relief flooded him, he did not want to accept any mechs from the battle today. Not now, not after he had gotten to know them.

"No Primus, I think… I think I will have to wait for them here with you."

Spectro stood in the still air as his body crumbled, unable to hold life any longer despite all that Scrapper was doing.

He couldn't refuse anymore as the spark inside the mech that had only hours before stood against him on the battle field, withered and Jazz opened his arms, showing his glowing spark to the far too damaged mech.

"Til all are one."

Spectro nodded and smiled at him in understanding. The form of the 'con melted away, leaving just the spark that shattered in to a million glimmering shards and joined the countless others that had gone before him in the spark of the mech still kneeling in the vast whiteness.

He could feel the sudden rush of memories and hopes from Spectro. How he only wanted to take pictures with his brothers, like he had before the war. How he already missed them and wished they wouldn't worry to much about him.

Slowly Jazz stood up and felt the pull of his true body as it traveled in its orbit in space.

It didn't seem fair.

There was so much he wanted to do, to feel, that he couldn't do because of what he was. He wanted to feel the sun and the sting of turbo fleas and have friends and enemy's and be like any of the transformers that came from his spark.

Sure there was a bit of him in everyone and he could live vicariously through the sensations of others, but when it came down to it he was trapped in this white vastness. There were no other beings like him to hang out with, no music to jive to, no femms to flirt with.

But he could experience everything this temporary body would allow and when the time came, when he himself passed the point of repair, he would return to Cybertron with the sparks of those who he had fought along side and experienced life with.

And for as long as he could, he would refuse them access to the hereafter.

Only… he couldn't deny them forever. One day even Prime would pass and he would have to pick a new one.

Letting the air out of his intakes in great gust, Jazz placed the visor over his optics and the room shifted back to its normal state. That was a long way off and the here and now was much more interesting.

Sunstreaker would be fine and so would Hound, but not so far off in the distance he could feel the grief and mourning of the mechs who had just lost their brother.

Smiling softly to himself at the flicker of warmth from Spectro in his chest, Jazz cranked his internal radio blocking out the sounds to give them privacy and left his quarters to go find Prowl.

He had to make that mech get some energon and he was still trying to get that damn Datsun to lighten up a little.

And if he couldn't do it, no one could.

A/N So ummm, yeah. Well what happened was, I was at the random pairing generator and Primus / Jazz / Conspiracy came up with an oddly timed Joan Osborne singing "what if God was one of us" and this plot bunny attacked me with all the force of a howitzer.


	2. Pawn

One of us, part 2.

Pawn

The black and white concentrated on the replicated battleground on his workstation. His fingers furiously skimming the keypad as he added in the movements of every mech present at the battle, Autobot and Decepticon alike. Every step, every weapon blast from the beginning charge to the Decepticon retreat. Adding in the last few bytes of data then letting the simulation boot.

Starting the feed when Hound moved from his designated location to counter a weapon barrage that would have other wise hit and from his force calculations would have not destroyed the still populated central operating station.

The power station sat in the Blue Ridge Mountains on the western edge of Virginia. Verdant green peaks with wisps of blue grey fog passing between them, obscured the vast facility from overhead surveillance and forcing them to send Hound as recon. The picturesque views were lost to Prowl who analyzed the terrain as merely a factor to the success or rather failure of the mission.

The power producing turbines had been destroyed. Yes, the Decepticon's had not been able to convert much of the power in to energon but 54 humans had died, and millions were sleeping in the dark due to the loss of power.

His hand slowed the replay as Sunstreaker broke away from the main battle group and stationed himself on a vantage point on a fog obscured mountain side. Three jets rocketed up the valley diverting around the clashing ground forces to fire at the rear of the Autobot lines. Sunstreaker fired his high powered weapon at the circling seekers, drawing their attention and fire away from the other ground forces that had come under heavy fire.

The yellow mech endured barrage after barrage from the air forces. The trees and hillside turning to mulch under his feet and a misplace footstep onto a fouled log sent the mech to the ground. The flyers landed and Prowl moved his focus, he had already analyzed the brutality inflicted onto the Yellow mech.

The red twin responded by breaking off and rushing to assist his brother. Optimus managed to land a solid blow to knock Megatron back and with suppressing fire, drove the Decepticons away from the power station.

Prowl leaned back in his chair and restarted the sequence, jotting a few notes before Hound darted out of the wood line to prevent the ineffective attack on the power plants human population.

He paused, rewound and played it again.

Why did he do that?

Hound was recon, under order to report his findings and specifically to not engage. It was his brash actions that drove the Autobots to start their assault early. Costing them time to strategically position themselves Sunstreaker was the only one to make it to his pre briefed point.

Again he stopped, rewound and restarted.

He did not understand.

There must be a reason for Hound actions.

The mech was in the med bay under the tender mercies of Ratchet otherwise he would ask and hold the mech accountable for blowing the operation.

Turning from the screen the black and white opened a reprimand form and started filling in the particulars for Hounds indiscretion.

His office door opened and admitted a sashaying Jazz.

The other black and white irked him.

To be kind about it.

Jazz sat himself on the corner of his desk, despite the chair placed conveniently in front of the impressive desk.

"So a pilot on final approach gets a call from control "Delta 2341, for noise abatement, turn right 45 Degrees."

The pilot responds, "Center, we are at 35,000 feet. How much noise can we make up here?"

The controller retorts "Sir, have you ever heard the noise a 747 makes when it hits a 727?"

He glared. Prowl understood why the Decepticons chose red optics, one could glare rather effectively. Blue was much too passive a color to convey how much he wanted the mech to leave.

"Is there a point for your being here?"

He looked down to the data pad with Hounds reprimand adding a few words before Jazz spoke again.

"We're all here for a reason; I'd like to think I'm here to make the world a better place. Or just to annoy you."

He looked up to the patented Jazz grin and had to refrain from making a sharp retort, instead just looking back to his data pad with what he hoped was a withering glare.

The annoying one was on his feet and looking over his shoulder in a millisecond.

"Whatcha doing?"

"My job."

"Really? From the look of this you're being an aft hat."

The data pad was snatched out of his hands and he rotated in his chair to view the mech head on.

"Jazz, return that immediately."

The Porsche cocked his head at him and smiled from his position leaning against his shelving system.

"No."

Prowl let his face sink into a glower. He didn't have time to deal with Jazz's antics.

Well, he did, but didn't want too.

"It is my job to reprimand those that disobey direct orders, Hound did. He broke away and cost us the element of surprise."

"He did it to protect the humans in the plant."

"It is statistically improbable that the attack would have harmed the humans present as the facility."

Jazz shook his head.

"Megs had a fragging artillery barrage aimed at them!"

The empathic Jazz was waving his hands and Prowl snatched the data pad from him.

"Yes, to draw us out. Megatron is not a simpleton, Jazz. He knows that we'll go to any lengths to prevent harm to the native species. He drew us into a trap, Jazz, and Hounds brash actions sprung it."

He turned around and sat, falling on the floor when his chair was pulled out from under him. Prowl squeaked before silencing his vocalizer. His wing sensors had been charred in the battle and landing on them sent stabbing jolts through his sensor network.

Jazz had the data pad again and looked down on him as he got his feet under himself.

"That was very unwarranted."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. He thought they were in danger and he acted. Like YOU said Prowl we'll go to any length to protect our human Friends."

There was a note in Jazz's voice modulation, something deep and resonating that spoke to his very core.

He didn't like it, it wasn't logical.

The other black and white deleted the reprimand form and threw the data pad onto his desk.

"I know you have a stack of those but I implore you to accept the aft whooping the Decepticons gave him as punishment enough for disobeying orders."

Prowl surveyed the mech in front of him, the scars on his legs from Ravage that prevented Jazz from reaching and disarming aforementioned missile barrage.

There was something… more about this mech.

That was why he didn't like him.

He couldn't deduce what the mechs motives were. It put him on edge and aggravated him to no end.

"I will consider it."

Jazz nodded and walked to the door, turning back to face him before leaving.

"I'll take some of those reports when you're done with em, Optimus has been up against Doc orders waiting for news if Sunny will pull through. He's about to crash. And get some energon, you get grumpy when your low, sweetie."

The Porsche blew him an over the top kiss and he had to throttle back the urge to throw the cleared data disk at him. The entire confrontation made his processors ache. The mech was just so… so illogical. The police car returned his chair to its proper spot and sat down.

He didn't understand it.

No mater how hard he tried he couldn't fathom what drove them, what made them fight so hard. His considerable processor ability was stymied when it came to why Jazz was like he was or why Hound would rush out like that. It was against logic to rush out in front of a missile bank and sure you would deflect some, but at what cost?

There was no way he could have stopped them all and he would be at risk of terminating his own spark from direct fire from the attending Decepticons.

But he still tried.

Why?

Prowl leaned forward and covered his face with his hands. Letting his door wings drift up like his great array, he sought the solitude of his form wandering the universe.

He, the great unmaker, the chaos bringer, was flabbergasted by the actions of these inferior mechs.

He was here to find out how best to destroy them. To destabilize and weaken their ties so when his great form reached Cybertron they would be unable to protect themselves. He had analyzed them, noted there tendencies and even joined the weaker side of the war to ensure it was long and damning.

But he still couldn't see an easy way to destroy them.

In all of his projected methods the simulation ended in his failure.

They would always fight him.

Even Megatron, inglorious bastard that he was would fight against an oppressor such as he.

It was… interesting.

He had never had an opponent he couldn't out think. And yes there had been massive loss of spark from the war, but they had survived.

Somehow, miraculously, they survived.

Not just survived, thrived. Plans were being drawn to bring the mass of the Autobots over from the heavily damaged Cybertron and build a city for them on this planet. They were rebuilding, moving on from a war that should have consumed them all and left the planet, his ancient adversary Primus, ripe for his consumption.

He let his hands fall away from his face and let his spark feel. This temporary body could only tamper with those immediately around it, but it was enough.

He felt the wearied Optimus crawling into his rack, a mech he had to respect for his tenacity and unwavering devotion. Unicron scowled, he never before had to go past the simple 'this one needed to die to plunge the organization into chaos.' Being personal was new and affronting. Pulling away from the fledgling sensations he felt out the med bay, seeking the comfort of pain and turmoil. Finding Ratchet working tirelessly on Hound and Sunstreaker, pulling both from the brink of certain death. That too bothered him; the deaths should have been a comfort to him, proof that his scheme of undermining the Cybertroinan race was working.

They would die, eventually, but not today. Yet even more miraculously, he didn't want them to.

He pulled back into himself and looked around his office. The stately desk with reports stacked neatly in one corner and his terminal monitor up and centralized. The shelves loaded with Cybertonian information pads, flanked him on both sides and the straight backed chair that had been pushed to the corner from Jazz's shenanigans. There was a potted plant in the far right corner. Optimus insisted that made the space friendlier to the natives he had to deal with on a routine basis. A painting of Sunstreakers, although the mech had made him swear that he wouldn't say who painted it, hung on the left wall. The bright colors of the Iacon skyline meshing well with the ornamental stump Trailbreaker had placed under it and that Jazz would put back every time he tried to remove it from his office. Ratchet had given him a hologram of the inner workings of the Cybertronian emotion core. To prove that he did have one and that it could feasibly operate. It hung next to the door so he could see it every time he looked up. A twisted hunk of something called a horse shoe that Wheeljack had welded above his door on request from Ironhide finished the room off. It was barren of any holos of mechs but he didn't want any.

Didn't really need any.

Somehow the mechs of this ship had attached themselves to him. In a way that he couldn't find out how to purge himself of.

From chaos comes order.

These mechs that had crashed here, both the Autobots and Decepticons seemed to embody the principle. It made his spark soar and crumble at the same time.

Was he that different then Primus who had made this motley crew?

Yes. He was the unmaker, the eater of worlds and Primus was the life giver.

They were bound together, sparks the same. Yet forever different, forever set against each over.

It was as it should be.

Prowl reached for the cleared data pad. Hand stopping short when he saw the cube of energon sitting on it.

He wasn't overly surprised, Jazz had a tendency to leave the cubes for him after a battle and it added to his resentment and appreciation of the mech.

Not so much appreciation as wonderment that any mech could sneak around him.

Bringing the cube of warm fluid to his lips, Prowl leaned back and savored the taste. Swilling the energon before swallowing and setting the cube down on an unoccupied corner of his desk.

He would not be the one to kill them. Not Optimus and Ratchet and Bluestreak, not even the Decepticons. If he had to during a battle then so be it, but he, Unicron would wait.

When this body passed on, then he would take arms and act, but until then, it was more interesting to simply be a pawn.

To see how far this could go.

And he still had to get Jazz back for pulling the chair out from under him.


End file.
